by David Mack
“Really? About me?” Torvin was so terrified, he thought he might vomit. “And?”
Terrell declared in a forceful tenor, “It’s led me to an inescapable conclusion.”
Sweat rolled down the back of Torvin’s neck. “What’s that, sir?”
“It’s become clear to me that this ship has no place for enlisted men. Do you understand what I’m saying to you right now?”
Trembling and unable to think, Torvin defaulted to the truth. “No, sir.”
“I’m saying you should get back to your post . . . Petty Officer Torvin.”
Cognitive dissonance left Torvin paralyzed for a few seconds while he parsed the captain’s words. Then Terrell smiled, as did Theriault and the Master Chief.
Ilucci stepped forward and slapped Torvin’s back. “Congrats, Tor! You’re officially a petty officer, third class—a noncom, just like the rest of us tool-pushers!”
Fear was erased by relief and joy. Filled with hope, Torvin dreamed once more of Taryl. He asked Ilucci in a confidential whisper, “So, can noncoms and officers—”
“Not a chance.”
“Damn.”
• • •
Theriault finished her circuit of the bridge, pleased to find everything back in order. The usual suspects were at their stations: Sorak manned the aft tactical console. Lieutenant Hesh monitored the sensor feeds. Nizsk was at the helm, Razka kept watch over the communications board, and Captain Terrell was back in the command chair. And that much was right in the universe.
She sidled up to the center seat to deliver her report to the captain. “All systems check out, sir. Ready for warp speed on your command.”
“Glad to hear it, Number One.”
Razka looked toward them. “Captain? I just received the reply from Starfleet Command. The Federation Council has approved an aid package for Anura. A fleet of civilian relief vessels is already en route from Starbase Pacifica. ETA, nine weeks.”
The captain nodded. “Very good, Chief. Let the Austarans know help is on the way.”
“Aye, sir.”
Terrell looked at the main viewscreen. “Helm, stand by to break orbit. We’ll go as soon as Chief Razka relays our message to the tribune’s office.”
Nizsk checked her gauges as she answered, “Standing by, sir.”
Theriault regarded the stars with hope and anticipation. “Where to next, sir? Back to the survey we cut short?”
“No such luck,” the captain said. “New orders from Starfleet. They want us to press on, into the next unexplored sector of the Taurus Reach.”
“Are we looking for anything in particular?”
“Not yet, Number One. I guess they just want us to see what’s out there.”
“Huh. A scout ship on a scouting mission.” She teased him with a wry half-smirk. “What’re the odds?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks go out to my wife, Kara, for continuing to forgive my flaws, adore my quirks, and encourage my dreams. She is why I am not homeless and/or dead.
Also due their measures of praise are my agent, Lucienne Diver; my partners in literary crime on this series, Dayton Ward and Kevin Dilmore; our editors, Margaret Clark and Ed Schlesinger; and our cover artist and accidental muse, Rob Caswell.
In the past I have heaped accolades upon bourbon for its role in my creative efforts. While it played its part in the crafting of this novel, this time around the most valuable player in my liquor cabinet was vodka. Thank you, vodka. This book would not exist without the courage you gave me to face the blank page, night after night. You rule.
Last but not least, I am thankful to all of you who buy and read these tales of mine. Knowing that my flights of narrative fancy entertain and amuse you is what makes all these efforts worthwhile.
Until our next trip to the stars, bon chance!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
On advice of counsel, David Mack denies everything.
Learn more on his official website:
www.davidmack.pro
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/David-Mack
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
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ISBN 978-1-4767-5309-6
ISBN 978-1-4767-5314-0 (ebook)
